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Parsha Perspectives: Filling the Empty Pit (Vayeshev)

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“Now it came to pass when Joseph came to his brothers, that they stripped Joseph of his shirt, of the fine woolen coat which was upon him. And they took him and cast him into the pit; now the pit was empty there was no water in it.” (Genesis 27:23-24)

From the opening verses in this week’s Parsha we see the animosity between Yosef and his brothers. The brothers feel that Yosef is arrogant and trying to lord over them. Yosef, seemingly oblivious to the impact of his dreams on his brothers, continues to share them. Tensions reach a boiling point, and when the brothers have Yosef alone, they decide it is time to eliminate him. The first thought was to kill him, but Reuven intervened and convinced the brothers to instead throw Yosef into a pit. The Torah tells that the pit was empty, there was no water. Rashi explains:

Since it says: “the pit was empty,” do I not know that there was no water in it? For what purpose did the Torah write, “there was no water in it”? [To inform us that] there was no water in it, but there were snakes and scorpions in it.”

The Lubavitcher Rebbe (Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, 1902-1994) extracts an incredible lesson from these words of Rashi. The pit represents man. We each have an emptiness within ourselves. God created us this way. He fashioned us but left an empty space for us to fill so we can partner with Him in the creation of our selves. The pit represents the unfinished part of myself. Mayim, water, represents Torah. Just as water quenches, refreshes, and creates growth, Torah quenches the thirsty soul, girds us with strength, and creates the platform and framework for dynamic life growth. When a person is “without water,” without Torah or spirituality in his or her life, there are “snakes and scorpions inside.” The pit or incomplete part of man must always be filling with something; it never remains empty. If we fill it with the holy, beautiful, and rejuvenating waters of Torah then we partner with God in completing our personal creation. If we fail to fill the pit with something meaningful then destructive forces, snakes and scorpions, will fill the void.

The words of the Rebbe give us much to ponder. In life, we are either constructing or deconstructing, there is no status quo or holding pattern. We each have a void, an incomplete part of our self, a pit, and we must decide what to fill it with. To do nothing, to fail to grow and progress allows the emptiness within to be filled with impurity and harmful influences. Let us find the strength to partner with God and finish the process of creation He began. God left us the empty pit and asks us to finish this last small piece of our self-creation. May we fill ourselves and our pits with the beautiful, refreshing, and life-sustaining waters of Torah and spiritual growth.

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Parsha Perspectives: What Do You See? (Vayishlach)

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There are certain inevitable realities. Yaakov knew the day would come when he would have to face his brother, Esav. Would Esav be seething with anger, or had he moved on? Could Yaakov and Esav rehabilitate their relationship, or would they simply go their own ways? We could only imagine that these questions were on Yaakov’s mind the night before this fateful encounter. The Torah describes that after Yaakov crossed his family over the Jordan River, he found himself all alone, Va’yivaser Yaakov L’Vado. It is at this moment that he is attacked by the “Ish,” (a man, identified by Rashi as the ministering angel of Esav), and they wrestle with one another throughout the night. Yaakov was injured but managed to stand his ground and kept his adversary restrained until morning. When the sun rose, the Ish requested that Yaakov release him. “And he (the angel) said, “Let me go, for dawn is breaking,” but he (Jacob) said, “I will not let you go unless you have blessed me.” So, he said to him, “What is your name?” and he said, “Jacob.” And he said, “Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel, because you have commanding power with [an angel of] God and with men, and you have prevailed” (Genesis 32:27-29).”

This exchange is perplexing. First, why is the Ish asking Yaakov his name? After all, they had been struggling with one another throughout the night. Second, it would appear that Yaakov’s name is changed twice, once in the above-mentioned verse and a second time when God appears and says: “…Your name shall no longer be called Jacob, but Israel shall be your name.” And He named him Israel (Genesis 35:10).” Why was the second name change necessary?

The Torah (Genesis 2:20) states that Adam named each of the animals. The Midrash (Bamidbar Rabba Chukas 19:3) relates that after Adam finished this important task, God approached him and asked, “… and you, what is your name? He (man) responded, Adam, because I was created from the earth (adama).” Man named each of the animals based on the qualities and characteristics he perceived in them. When God asked man, “What is your name?” He was asking how do you perceive yourself? And man answered, “I am from the earth.” This was not a statement of origin; it was a statement of identification. Adam identified with the earth. Adam failed to realize that the root of his name is also the same root as the Hebrew word “adameh, I will resemble.” Man has a choice – he can view himself as resembling the dirt or he can view himself as resembling his Maker and Creator. He can choose to identify with the earth, or he can choose to identify with the heavens. The choice is his.

A name captures the essence of an individual. When the angel asked Yaakov, “mah sh’mecha (what is your name)?” he was asking Yaakov, “how do you view yourself? What do you see when you look in the mirror?” Yaakov responded, “I am Yaakov. I am the one who was trampled on and who has to hold on to the heel of the other (the root of the name Yaakov is eykev, heel). I am the one who is always running; I am the one who is unable to face others (he ran away from home and later from Lavan to avoid conflict).” The Ish says, “Yaakov, you are mistaken. Your name is no longer Yaakov, you don’t have to run, you don’t have to fear. Your name is Yisrael, ki sarisa, you are a master, you have struggled, but you are still standing. You have fought with both angel and man and have stood your ground. You lived in Lavan’s home, a spiritually hostile environment for over two decades, and yet, you remained true to your Abrahamitic values. You wrestled an angel into submission. You don’t have to grab at anyone’s heel; you don’t have to flee in the face of adversity. You are Yisrael. Find the confidence to face your demons, find the confidence to confront your challenges, find the strength to see how much you have grown.”

The angel did not change Yaakov’s name. In fact, Rashi explains that the angelic Ish was foreshadowing what would occur later on when God appears to change Yaakov’s name to Yisrael. The Ish is giving Yaakov important advice. The only way you will be successful in life is if you begin to view yourself in a different light. You have so much potential, you possess so much holiness, but your self-perception is preventing you from seeing it.

Too often we fail to achieve, progress, and grow because we give up on ourselves; we feel unworthy. We are acutely aware of our faults and shortcomings and assume that we cannot achieve greatness. We identify as “adama” and therefore, lower our personalistic expectations. We must always remember that we are the Children of Israel; we are the people who strive for “adameh.” Let us find the strength to see the good, the beauty, and the holiness that resides within.

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Parsha Perspectives: Heed the Head (Vayetzei)

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And Jacob left Beer Sheba, and he went to Haran. And he arrived at the place and lodged there because the sun had set, and he took some of the stones of the place and placed [them] at his head, and he lay down in that place. (Bereishis 28:11).

The Parsha opens with Yaakov Avinu leaving the security of his parents’ home and venturing into the great unknown in order to find his life partner (and escape his vengeful brother). The Torah relates the story of his grand vision in which Hashem promised Yaakov safety, security, and success.

Rashi comments on the placement of stones around Yaakov’s head:
He arranged them in the form of a pile around his head because he feared the wild beasts. 

The Lubavitcher Rebbe asks, “if Yaakov feared wild beasts why did he not protect his body as well? If he believed that God would protect his body, why not believe that God would protect his head? And if he did not want to rely on a miracle to protect his head, then why rely on a miracle to protect his body?” The Rebbe explains that Rashi is conveying to us a profound life lesson. Yaakov understood that he was not simply making a geographic transition; he wasn’t simply making a move from his parents’ home to his uncle’s home. He was leaving the spirituality and holiness of a patriarchal abode and venturing into a place of deceit and deception. But alas, one cannot always remain in the safety of the spiritual cocoon. Life often requires and propels us into spiritually hostile environments, and we must strive to maintain our proper “hashkafos,” ideals and beliefs. This was the symbolism of Yaakov covering his head while leaving his body exposed. The body must enter into hostile environments, but the head, my thoughts, ideas, outlooks, and religious beliefs must remain protected, bolstered, and resistant to the external bombardment. As Yaakov prepared his body to enter the house and society of Lavan, he secured his head and spiritual identity.

We have a sacred mission to engage and contribute to greater society. We have the ability to make a difference not only in our small corner but in the lives of those around us. We have the capacity to be a light unto the nations. In order to make these contributions and effect change, we must often leave the wholesome cocoon of holiness and venture into the world and society around us. Whether we are venturing out for career, community needs, or education, we must make sure to properly bolster and strengthen ourselves before we take that first step. We must surround our head with the stones of Torah, avodas Hashem (service of God), commitment to mesorah (tradition), and connection to our people. Yaakov protected his head and returned to his land and his family, intact and spiritually strong. May we find success in all our life endeavors and keep our head protected every step of the way.

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Parsha Perspectives: Unearthing the Water (Toldos)

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“And Isaac loved Esav because [his] game was in his mouth, but Rebecca loved Jacob (Bereishis 25:28).” 

Things don’t always go according to plan. We have dreams and aspirations for ourselves and our children, but life is filled with twists and turns. Children don’t always follow in the footsteps of their parents and often make different choices and create for themselves a distinct life path. With all of this, the job of a parent is to love and appreciate their child for who the child is and not for whom the parents want them to be. And so, the Torah tells us that Yitzchak loved Esav. But why? What was “loveable” about Esav? We must assume that Yitzchak and Rivka each loved both of their children, yet each had a unique relationship with a particular child. Rivka’s connection with Yaakov was understandable. Yaakov was holy and genuine; he was the clear heir to the Abrahamitic legacy. He was a source of wonderful and ongoing nachas. But what was the nature of the connection between Yitzchak and Esav? It would appear they were worlds apart, yet Yitzchak had this incredible love for his first-born son. What does this mean? What is the message? 

Of all our Patriarchs, we know the least about Yitzchak. While we are told of the Akeyda (binding of Yitzchak) and Yitzchak’s willingness to offer himself upon the altar of God, this event is really looked at through the lens of Avraham’s selfless dedication to God. What do we know about Yitzchak? He dug wells. 

And Isaac went away from there, and he encamped in the valley of Gerar and dwelt there. And Isaac again dug the wells of water which they had dug in the days of his father, Abraham, and the Philistines had stopped them up after Abraham’s death; and he gave them names like the names that his father had given them. And Isaac’s servants dug in the valley, and they found there a well of living waters. And the shepherds of Gerar quarreled with Isaac’s shepherds, saying, “The water is ours”; so he named the well Esek, because they had contended with him. And they dug another well, and they quarreled about it also; so he named it Sitnah. And he moved away from there, and he dug another well, and they did not quarrel over it; so he named it Rehoboth, and he said, “For now the Lord has made room for us, and we will be fruitful in the land (Genesis 26:17-22).” 

Why does the Torah need to focus on Yitzchak’s well-digging activities? The Lubavitcher Rebbe provides an incredible insight. To benefit from the beautiful and sustaining, subterranean waters you must be willing to dig. You must take out your shovel, bend your back and take away shovelful of dirt after shovelful of dirt until you find the refreshing, translucent waters. This is a metaphor for the self. We each possess a beautiful wellspring of holiness and spiritual beauty. However, often this holiness is obscured by layers of “dirt.” There is the dirt of bad decisions, there is the dirt of negative life-experiences, there is the dirt of failure and set-backs. All this dirt sits on top of my well and covers my inner waters. We must find the courage to dig, to haul away the earth through changing and adjusting certain behaviors and habits. This was the great strength of Yitzchak, he was the well-digger. He was the one who was able to dig through the layers of dirt and find the beautiful waters of holiness in himself and in others. When the world looked at Esav, they saw one thing – dirt. Yitzchak saw the dirt which covered his son, but he also saw the beautiful waters of holiness which were surging beneath the layer upon layer of thick dirt. He loved his son because he was able to see the waters and not just the dirt.   

We must become well-diggers and utilize this skill in all our life-relationships. We need to love our children for who they are and not for who we want them to be. Even if our children get covered in dirt, we must appreciate that the waters still run deep and are ever-present. We must strive to see the good in others and recognize that even when people hurt us, there is still good within that individual. We must try to focus on the water and not the dirt. We must look for the water within ourselves. We cannot define ourselves by the dirt of our indiscretions or misdeeds. We must remember that no matter how much dirt we have piled on ourselves, the inner waters never dry up. They are always present, waiting to be discovered.    

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Parsha Perspectives: Transfer of Title (Chayei Sara)

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Avraham purchased the lot and then buried his beloved life-partner, Sarah. But this was no ordinary field in the city of Hebron, this was the Me’aras HaMachpeyla, the cave in which our patriarchs and matriarchs would be laid to rest alongside Adam and Chava.

“And so, the field of Ephron, which was in Machpelah, facing Mamre, was established (as Abraham’s possession). [This included] the field and the cave that was in it, and all the trees that were in the field, which were within its entire border around (Bereishis 23:17).”

The phrase “was established” is the translation of the Hebrew word, va’yakam. This word can also be translated as “stood up” or “was elevated.” Rashi explains: the field of Ephron…was established: Heb. וַיָקָם, lit. it arose. It experienced an elevation, for it left the possession of a simple person [and went] into the possession of a king (Gen. Rabbah 48:8).

The Lubavitcher Rebbe (1902-1994) explains that as soon as the land’s ownership was transferred to Avraham it experienced an elevation, even before Sarah was buried there. The mere fact that the land was owned by a holy person, endowed the land with elevated holiness. The Rebbe explains that the same is true for every individual. When a person comes to a particular place and he wants to make that location an “Eretz Yisroel,” a land of holiness and spiritual accomplishment, the intention to accomplish something great infuses holiness into the new location.

I believe that Rashi and the Rebbe are teaching us two dramatic, inter-connected lessons. Who we are impacts what we have. I often assume that my personal holiness really only impacts me, or perhaps, those closest to me. But I learn from the statement of Rashi that my personalistic holiness impacts everything from my family to my possessions. Who we are leaves an imprint on everything within our life. Who I am has an impact on my children and community and on some level leaves a mark on my field as well. The field of Ephron was elevated because it had a new saintly owner. But there is an additional dimension as well. We have the ability to infuse holiness and sanctity even into the earth we walk on if we have intent to accomplish great things. The moment I desire to do a mitzvah, the instant I decide I want to accomplish something of significance, the minute I am resolute to fix something that is broken (either in myself or the world), I infuse holiness into land under my feet. That very land upon which I stand is transformed into something holy and sacred. In that moment of holy cognition, it is transferred from Ephron to Avraham.

The meaningful and holy actions we engage in and even the beautiful and spiritual thoughts we have, impact the world around us in more profound ways than we will ever know.

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Parsha Perspectives: Return Again (Vayera)

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The joy was palpable. Avraham and Sarah were told they would be blessed with a son, and for the first time in many years, the future looked bright and optimistic. Yet, in the very moment Avraham’s family was to expand, the Divine plan for the destruction of Sodom was taking shape.

“And the Lord said, “Shall I conceal from Abraham what I am doing? And Abraham will become a great and powerful nation, and all the nations of the world will be blessed in him.” (Bereishis 18:17-18)

God felt compelled to share his plan for the destruction of Sodom and its surrounding cities with Avraham. And as he hears of the imminent destruction, Avraham begins to bargain with God. If there are fifty righteous men, will you save the city? Avraham asks God. God agrees. When it became clear that there were not fifty righteous men to be found, Avraham kept asking, lowering the number of righteous souls through which to save the cities. But alas, Avraham was unsuccessful. There were not even ten righteous men whose merit could save the cities. Avraham lost the battle. The angels journeyed towards Sodom and destruction ensued.

The Torah states, “And the Lord departed when He finished speaking to Abraham, and Abraham returned to his place (18:33).” Why must the Torah tell us that “Avraham returned to his place?” What is the deeper meaning of this seemingly extraneous verse? Rashi comments: “… and Abraham returned to his place: The Judge left, the defender left, and the prosecutor is accusing. Therefore: “And the two angels came to Sodom,” to destroy (Gen. Rabbah 49:14).” Avraham has no more arguments to advance. No additional methods to advocate on behalf of the people of Sodom. The case is closed; the defender and prosecutor pack up, and the enforcers leave to carry out the sentence.

Rav Yechezkel Shraga Halberstam (Shiniver Rov, 1813-1898) explains, “even though Avraham was unable to save the people of Sodom through his prayer, and God destroyed them with fire and sulphur, Avraham’s service of God was not diminished. He understood that all God does is just…. ‘He returned to his place’ – he returned to serving God with joy, commitment, and love; just as he had done before.”

Avraham suffered a significant setback. Just a few verses earlier, God had crowned him the father of a multitude of nations. He was to inspire and shape not just the future Jewish people but humanity as a whole. He was to educate the masses as a father does for his children. He was to love the nations as a parent loves his own flesh and blood. When Avraham supplicated and bargained on behalf of the people of Sodom – he was a father begging for mercy on his children. Every parent has one basic, core instinct – protect my child at all costs. But he failed. He could not convince God to spare the people. He couldn’t protect his children. Avraham and God part company without uttering a word to one another. Sadness fills the air. Avraham, broken that he couldn’t save his children, God, saddened that He would have to punish his creations.

What does Avraham do after experiencing this set-back? “V’Avraham Shav Limkomo, Avraham returned to his place”. He retuned back to the state he was in before. He would not lose himself in pain or self-pity. He would not lose himself in the pit of despair. He needed to move on. He needed to figure out what had to be done to prevent another catastrophic event like this from occurring. How can I uplift humanity? How can I better the world? He dusted himself off, dried his tears, and resumed his relationship with God and the building of his spiritual self.

We all encounter defeat. There are moments when we feel we have failed and in doing so have let ourselves and others down. Some of these failures are real, and some are perceived. But the pain is often palpable. We learn from our first Patriarch, to dust ourselves off and find the courage and strength to pick up where we left off. When we suffer defeat, we must be shav limkomeynu, return to our place, resume our holy work, and continue down the path of life accomplishment.

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Parsha Perspectives: Always Careful (Lech Lecha)

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And the Lord said to Abram, “Go forth from your land and from your birthplace and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you.” (Bereishis 13:1)

Avraham was commanded to leave the life he had known, venture forth into the great unknown and embrace his personal destiny. Upon arriving in the land of Canaan, he is faced with the stark reality of regional famine that forces him to relocate (together with his family) to Egypt. It is in Egypt that Avraham faces a society hostile to his spiritual and moral views. Yet, Avraham and Sarah persevere and make their way back to the Canaan. It is during this return journey to Canaan that the Torah shares an interesting piece of information.

And he went on his journeys, from the south and until Beth El, until the place where his tent had been previously, between Beth El and between Ai. (Bereishis 13:3)

Rashi comments:
And he went on his journeys: When he returned from Egypt to the land of Canaan, he went and lodged in the inns where he had lodged on his way to Egypt. This teaches you etiquette, that a person should not change his lodgings (Arachin 16b).

The Maharal of Prague (Rabbi Yehuda Lowe, 1525-1609) explains that if Avraham had changed his lodgings people would have assumed that he was unhappy with the accommodations or with the character of the proprietor. This could have led others to speak negatively about the inn-keeper and adversely impact his livelihood.

While this is certainly a beautiful idea, I would have made the argument that Avraham should not be bound by these types of considerations. After all, he is on a mission from God. He needs to spread monotheism and reintroduce Hashem to humanity. He needs to get back to Canaan and get to work. Let him stay wherever he wants, wherever is most convenient – why the need to retrace his steps?

The Torah is teaching us an incredible lesson. In our quest for personal spirituality, we must be ever-vigilant of the feelings of those around us. Even if one is on a mission from God, even if one is engaged in the most holy and spiritually pure endeavors, one is never exempt from maintaining the highest levels of interpersonal conduct. Building one’s relationship with God is never a license to trample on my relationship with the other.

Rav Soloveitchik zt’l told a beautiful story involving his great-grandfather, the Beis HaLevi (Rav Yosef Baer Soloveitchik). The Beis HaLevi was in Warsaw and decided to visit Rabbi Yaakov Gesundheit (1815-1878), the Rav of the city. As the two great rabbis were seated in the living room, they heard the Jewish maid begin to sing. Rabbi Gesundheit got up and was going to ask her to please lower her voice. (There is a concept in Jewish law of Kol Isha. Under certain circumstance a man is not permitted to hear a woman sing.) Rav Yosef Baer took hold of his host’s arm and pulled him aside. The Rav of Warsaw asked the Beis HaLevi why he had stopped him. “I will explain my actions,” said Rav Yosef Baer. “Your maid works hard. The only enjoyment and pleasure she has is singing. It is true that we are enjoined from listening to her singing, but we can step outside or go into a different room. However, you want her to stop singing. That is not fair. It is her only enjoyment!” (The Rav Vol. II, page 178).

The Bais HaLevi understood that we must be unwavering and unyielding in the fulfillment of our halachik obligations. But we must honor our spiritual responsibilities with a concurrent sensitivity to the needs of the other.

This was the lesson of Avraham Avinu. We must strive to grow spiritually but never at the expense of the feelings of another. You can be the man of God, father of monotheism, patriarch of a nation – but you must still be vigilant with how you treat your fellow man.

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Parsha Perspectives: Stop Circling (Noach)

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“And he sent forth the raven, and it went out, back and forth until the waters dried up off the earth” (Genesis 8:7)

The floodwaters had receded, and Noach sent the raven to seek dry land. The raven circled the ark but came back. The story seems simple enough – no dry land to be found, no journey to embark upon, come back to the ark. Yet, Rashi shares a fascinating comment:
The simple explanation is its apparent meaning, but the Midrash Aggadah (Gen. Rabbah 33:5) [explains that] the raven was destined for another errand (shlichus) during the lack of rain in the time of Elijah, as it is said (I Kings 17:6): “and the ravens brought him bread and meat.”

This wasn’t the destined mission for the raven. The raven had another shlichus (agency/mission) to bring bread to Eliyahu HaNavi when he was hiding from King Achav (a story for another time). Rashi is teaching us an all-important lesson – everyone and everything has a mission and purpose in this world. Rashi’s words are reminiscent of the Mishna in Pirkei Avos, Ethics of Our Fathers:
He (Ben Azzai) used to say: do not despise any man, and do not discriminate against anything, for there is no man that has not his hour, and there is no thing that has not its place (4:3).

The raven had a different mission, and therefore, was unable to fulfill the one Noach assigned to it. What is true for the raven is even truer for us. We each have a mission. We each have a purpose. At times, the mission may align with my skill set and be easy to execute. However, at times, the mission I am called upon to fulfill is difficult and arduous. The Torah is filled with stories of great men and women who had to undergo challenges and adversity to fulfill their shlichus (mission). But unlike the raven who had but one mission, man can have multiple missions over the course of life. Different stages and seasons come with their own mission and mandate. Yet, as different as we are from the raven, often we behave in the same fashion. We too tend to circle the ark of existence. Too often, we are afraid to embrace our shlichus, we are frightened to venture into the unknown even though it promises so much success and fulfillment. Instead, we choose to remain close to the ark of the known. We prefer to play it safe and settle and hover in familiar territory. It is scary to venture out into the unknown. But my mission can never be found in the comfort of what is known. It requires me to take flight, it requires to at least step foot into the unknown, it requires me to take chances. Hovering around the ark works for the raven; it can’t work for us.

The new year is upon us. The coming months are filled with promise and potential. It is now that we each must try to figure out what our shlichus is. It could be identifying my mission for today or defining my mission for life. We must give significant thought as to why we have been placed on this earth and what Hashem wants from us. We must resist the temptation to be a raven and just hover in comfort. We must take flight and find the courage to embrace the mission.

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Parsha Perspectives: Instant Gratification (Bereishis)

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“In the beginning God created heaven and the earth.” (Genesis 1:1)

From the time we are children, we are taught the awesome and inspiring story of creation. Through the verses we see all the cosmic pieces fit together to form a beautiful tapestry of Divine handiwork. The creation story appears simple, yet, we know it has many dimensions and levels of deeper understanding. In fact, many of the commentaries posit that we cannot even begin to understand the esoteric secrets contained in these verses. Yet, God included these chapters in His Torah and as such, there are lessons to be learned. What can we take away from the creation narrative, and how can we use it to shape our new year?

When reading through the verses detailing the 6 Days of Creation, we see a pattern:
“And God said, ’Let there be light,’ and there was light.” (Genesis 1:3)
“And God said, ’Let the water that is beneath the heavens gather into one place, and let the dry land appear,’ and it was so.” (Genesis 1:9)
“’And they shall be for luminaries in the expanse of the heavens to shed light upon the earth.’ And it was so.” (Genesis 1:15)

God wills it and it happens. This is one of the most spectacular aspects of the Divine Persona: He can make things happen instantaneously. Va’yomer Elokim Yihi Or, God wants there to be light – Va’yihi Or, there is light. God’s wishes require no effort to actualize. God’s will creates new realities. Not so with man. For man to see the actualization of his efforts, he must be willing to expend much energy, he must be willing to struggle, he must be prepared to experience set-backs and at times even fail. Yet despite all of this, man must possess the strength to keep trying. This is the lesson of creation; it is only God who can produce instantaneous results. We mortals must be willing to work hard and often. The entire story of creation is to teach us the greatness of God and simultaneously remind us that we cannot expect immediate results, gratification, and success in our life endeavors. God can create with sheer will; we can only create with extreme effort.

On this Shabbos, Shabbos Bereishis, we recite Birkas HaChodesh (we announce the arrival of the Hebrew month of Cheshvon in the week ahead). This prayer reflects the anticipatory hope that the coming month will be filled with blessing and fulfillment. The text we use comes from a prayer created by the great Talmudic sage, Rav.
The Talmud quotes this beautiful prayer:
“Rav, on concluding his prayer, added the following: May it be Thy will, O Lord our God, to grant us long life, a life of peace, a life of good, a life of blessing, a life of sustenance, a life of bodily vigor (Chilutz Atzamos), honor, a
life in which we may be filled with the love of Torah and the fear of heaven, a life in which there is fear of sin, a life free from shame and confusion, a life of riches and which Thou shalt fulfil all the desires of our heart for good!” (Berachos 16b).

It is intriguing to note that we ask God for a life of Chilutz Atzamos (health, bodily vigor). There are more accurate words in Hebrew for health (e.g. refuah, briyus). If we analyze the phrase more carefully, we will find that it actually means, “strong bones.” Perhaps, we are asking God for “fortitude.” We turn to God on this first Shabbos of the new year, on this Shabbos when Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, and Succos are behind us and an exciting yet daunting new year is ahead of us, and we say, “God, please give me all of the wonderful blessings that life has to offer, and please give me Chilutz Atzamos (fortitude) to see my various endeavors and efforts to fruition. Give me the staying power to be able to make it to the finish line of my life pursuits. Give me the strength to know that somehow things will work out.” In a universe where only God can achieve instantaneous results, we ask God for the strength, the Chilutz Atzamos to achieve our life objectives.

It is on this Shabbos Bereishis, the Shabbos of creation, that we take stock of our present and begin to plan for our future. We pledge to ourselves to live better and more meaningful lives. We identify the aspects of life that need to change and the aspects that must be enhanced. We create a vision of what we would like the coming year to look like and create an action-plan to make it happen. We begin the year with unbridled optimism and excitement because we have been given another year in which to create a new world. Yet, we realize that we will hit roadblocks, encounter obstacles, and sometimes even fall. It is during these moments that we are often tempted to abandon our plan and new life course saying, “I tried, and it didn’t work out.” It is during these moments of failure and turbulence that we must remember only God can create the light of life with an utterance of the lips, only God can affect instantaneous results. We must work, struggle, and ultimately persevere. It is during these challenging moments that we must look heavenward and ask God for an extra infusion of Chilutz Atzamos to allow us to be successful on the journey of life. (From 5779)

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Parsha Perspectives: Start Dreaming (Vayelech)

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If there is one prayer that resonates in the heart of every Jew it is Kol Nidrei. The very tune is haunting yet enchanting, saddening yet uplifting. Yet, when one looks at the words – they seem to be anything but inspirational. Kol Nidrei is a form of Hataras Nedorim, revocation of vows. We begin the holiest day of the year by releasing ourselves from the vows of the past and proactively annulling the vows of the future. On a legal level this is very important as violating one’s vow is considered a severe transgression. We do whatever we can to repent and absolve ourselves of sin as we enter this sacred day. And still, we find ourselves confounded by a basic question: of all the beautiful prayers we have in our liturgy, why begin the holiest day of the year with revocation of vows? There are many prayers with moving words, prayers that capture the true essence of Yom Kippur; prayers that speak to the theme of purity and repentance. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to use some of these prayers as the liturgical introduction to this holy day? Why do we begin with Kol Nidrei? What is the message?

Perhaps, to answer this question we must strive to understand the purpose and power of a neder (vow). The paradigmatic neder is the Nazirite vow. A person takes a vow to abstain from wine and cutting his hair. The Nazir is forgoing certain physical pleasures and choosing to place less emphasis on his “self.” Why would a person do such a thing? The Rabbis explain – because deep down he knows he can be something more, deep down he knows he possesses greatness within but needs the proper framework to extract it. He needs to shift the focus from pleasure seeking to purpose seeking. Sometimes in life we need a push; we need some level of tension to actualize our potential. This is the neder – the binding promise which creates the framework to allow the individual to access his internal reservoir of potential.

To take this one step further, perhaps, the neder can be viewed as a personal aspiration or dream. I know where I am now, and I know where I need to be; the neder is the vehicle to help me bridge the gap. The neder creates a legal reality in which I must actively work to actualize my dream/aspiration. But there is a danger in dreaming – many dreams fail to materialize, many dreams come crashing down, many dreams end in disappointment. When one experiences too many failed dreams, one loses his resolve and courage to dream any more. It is too hard to leave oneself open to hurt and feelings of failure; better to live without dreams than to dream and fail.

This coming Wednesday night when we enter the hallowed sanctity of Yom Kippur, we reflect on last year and realize that many of the things we wanted to do, we didn’t. Many of the dreams we had remain unrealized or worse, ended in failure. And so, the first thing we do on this sacred day is revocation of vows, Hataras Nedorim – we let go of our failed dreams. We let go of the unrealized dreams of last year. We let go because we will not allow ourselves to be burdened by the yolk of failed dreams. Carrying around these failures can be stifling. We let go in order to dream anew.

This is our mandate over Yom Kippur – dream a new dream! Ask yourself, who do I want to be? What do I want my life to look like? What do I need to accomplish? We unburden ourselves in order to fill our hearts and souls with new, magnificent and holy dreams for the coming year. There is no better, more appropriate way to start this special day than with the recitation of Kol Nidrei. (From 5774)

I hope and pray that we will each find the courage to dream a new dream. Let us hope that God sees the beauty in our dreams and gives us the strength to make them come true.

G’mar Chasima Tova and Good Shabbos

 

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